


Algolagnia

by TaurusQueen413



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: After the Movie, Alts in love, Amber is a bitch, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Biting, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Body Language, Branding, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Choking, Consensual Somnophilia, Consensual Underage Sex, Corruption, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dacryphilia, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead People, Dirty Thoughts, Dismemberment, Drug Dealing, F/M, Gore, Grave Robbers, Graverobber gets turned on by violence, Graverobber might be ooc because I've never written him before, Hair-pulling, It gets 1-100 fast, Knifeplay, Loves his face more tho, Luigi is a bad father, Murder, Necrophilia, Nightmares, Painplay, Past Child Abuse, Pavi is morally grey but loves his neice, Prostitution, Protectiveness, Recreational Drug Use, References to music from the past, Running Away, Sex in a Car, Shilo gets a job, Smut, So Does The OC, Tattoos, Thoughts of Necrophilia, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, Violent Thoughts, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?, Zydrate (Repo!), birthday gifts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29034345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaurusQueen413/pseuds/TaurusQueen413
Summary: 17 year old Bronwyn runs away from home and finds herself being swept off her feet by a dashing GraveRobber.He takes her everywhere except where she really wants to go.Thing is, she's not complaining.
Relationships: GraveRobber (Repo!)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so GraveRobbers name will be Nicholas Breaker lol
> 
> Also this will be heavily fucked up. Just warning.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" was all Bronwyn hissed as she darted through crowded alleyways. The thick smog of the late night fog shrouded her hazel eyes. Her father was hot on her trail with his brother, her uncle. People whined and complained as she shoved past, her boots smacking against the wet ground. She had to hide or she'd be dragged back to that Hell hole know as GeneCo. Her father, Luigi Largo, was determined to bring her back kicking or screaming. 

Needless to say Bronwyn wasn't that well liked by her father. Her mother Shayle was just some random hookup about 17 years ago, and since her mother died, Luigi had been taking care of her. Bronwyn uses the term 'taking care of' very loosly.

Her mother and Luigi had her young, both being around 20. Now that she was 17 Luigi was going to plaster her face on every newspaper, every tabloid, and use her to pump his public ratings. 

In all the years she was consious she witnessed horrific acts of bodily horror done at the hands of her uncle and father. Pavi wasn't nearly as bad as Luigi; he would gift her little trinkets and toys, providing the warmth Luigi never did. But Pavi wasn't enough to sheild her from Luigi's cruelty. Luigi would back hand her and throttle her around at the tender age of 6, so violence was all she knew. Amber was the addict aunt who would throw her makeup at Bronwyn when she didn't bring her alcohol quick enough. Bronwyn experimented with makeup at age 10 and would dream of being like Aunt Amber. 

Of course that would never happen, as she was sick of her fathers abuse. She couldn't stand one more second in that home. If you could call it that. 

She ducked into a hole and hid behind the boxes holding miscellaneous items. Holding her breath, she watched Luigi dart in the hole, quickly look around and then dart out. Like a rat looking for food. 

He ran off down the alley, holding his signature switchblade. She breathed, relaxing on the grimey floor. "Running from something, sweetie?" Came a low voice. Bronwyn jumped and whipped around, pulling out a straight razor she stole from her grandfather, Rotti. "Hey hey! I mean no harm. I'm just as innocent as you." 

"How do you know I'm innocent?" 

"Everyone's innocent until they're proven guilty, doll." The disembodied voice reverberated around the literal hole in the wall. "I'm a friend. And you are?" "None of your friggen business." Bronwyn stood up, clutching her straight razor. "You're not my friend." She snapped, standing up. "I've never met a stranger though, and I bet if we got to know each other we'd be friends." The voice grew cloqser until she could make out a face in the dark. "Don't count on it, mister. I'm trying to get out of this friggen city." The face bobbed in the dark, as if nodding. "I can get you out, for a fee."

"Oh please, I don't trust you. Why would I let you escort me out of the city? I don't even know you!" Bronwyn raised her razor, ready to slash if he touched her. "You're probably thinking in my GeneCo, right? That's who you're running from? I hate those guys, they wanna put me out of business."  
"Business? Wait how the hell did you know I was running from GeneCo?" 

"Luigi Largo ran by. I assumed you pissed him off and need help out of the city limits. I can get you to Gallviston by 7 am tommorow if you wanna pay my little fee. Once you're in Gallviston, no Repo Man can touch you. Atleast, none in this city." 

Bronwyn's face reddened at her paranoia. "Still don't know you, buddy." The man pulled a tiny vial of luminous blue liquid, casting his angular face in a blue sheen. "You can call me Graverobber." "Wait, the Graverobber who helped Shilo take down Rotti during Blind Mag's last performance?" "You know Shilo?" "We talk...sometimes." Luigi had no clue Shilo and her made friends when they were little and Bronwyn would sneak out. They'd pass notes back and forth via a line of old tubing. When Shilo got older, she met with Bronwyn right before Blind Mag's last performance. The two exchanged hugs and prayers before Shilo pulled back into reclusion. Probably to process what the fuck happened. "Good. Then you're definitely a friend of mine." He chuckled, mouth splitting wide to form a painted smile. His purple lipstick framed his teeth. "Fine. What's your price?" "I have to go with you." "What?" "Its not safe for me either. After Rotti died, Graverobbers were being hunted down like mice by cats. Let me come with you. Please!" "Fine, I've got no problem with that. Where are you heading?" "Gallviston." Bronwyn made a noise. "Is that why you said Gallviston? Why not just go by yourself?" Graverobber shrugged and put the vial on a ledge made by the boxes. "Its safer in pairs. And I got company so that's also a plus. What do you say? Travel buddies?" He held out a fingerless gloved hand and she stared at it.

Then she took it. "Bronwyn Largo."


	2. Chapter 2

Graverobber lead the young woman out of the city via the old buildings. It took them about half an hour to make it to the city limits. The wasteland outside welcomed the two outcasts. About 8 miles to the west, Gallviston sat like a ghost town in some old spaghetti western. Tiny towns littered the bigger ones, abandoned during the whole organ failure epidemic. Thick smog hung in the clouds, casting a dark gloom over the city. 

Bridges linked the city to the mainland, painted a shiny new red. Cars passed by like fireflies zooming around on a hot spring night. Graverobber nudged Bronwyn, motioninf towards the bridge. "We pass that and we're home free. But we cannot look back after. Understand?" 

Bronwyn nodded, holding her bag straps tighter. "Yeah, I just wanna get out of here and to Gallviston before Luigi finds us." He hooded and took her elbow, leading her last the decaying buildings. The only way to get out of the bigger, newer parts is to go through the old bones. They tried investing to rebuild them, but the projects always fell short and then they were just abandoned. Homeless people find ways to live in them though. 

Once they reached the bridge, Graverobber broke out into a sprint, running past confused passerbys. Bronwyn ran after, huffing and puffing, praying no one would notice her. She yelped as a hand grabbed her hair, yanking her to the ground. "Found her! Luigi I found the bitch!" Her aunt, Amber, had been waiting at the bridge, and caught up to her quick. Bronwyn howled and kicked, thrashing beneath Amber. 

Amber was yelling into her phone, presumably at Luigi, who yelled something back. Amber cut the call shot and cackled, wrapping a coarse rope around Bronwyn's wrists. "Time to take you home, sweet cheeks. Luigi is gonna have your ass when we get home!" Graverobber turned back, eyes wide. Bronwyn stared up at him, silently pleading at him to do something. Amber pulled her up, pressing her face into Bronwyn's hickory coloured hair. She reeked of alcohol and iron. She must've gotten a new surgery. "You're running off with my supplier! Whore. You're gonna be set right at home. I have half a mind to take your pretty tits for myse-agh!" 

Graverobber had shoved her over the bridge railing and into the deep murkey waters below, with help from Bronwyn bucking. They both stared at the ripple in the black water for a moment, until Graverobber grabbed her shoulder and pulled her along the metal sidewalk. "Fuck! Now we have to stick together!" 

"Thank you!" She cried, "Don't thank me yet! We still gotta get out of the city limits! GeneCo can't touch us in the wasteland." 

The wasteland was where people who couldn't afford organ replacement lived and died. Crumbling towns ravaged by the epademic. They hardly ever left their towns, and GeneCo didn't bother investing in them either. GeneCops were non-existent and it was safe for any drug cartel, prisoner's, run aways and the like to wait out the search. The nearest city was Gallviston, ripe with gangs and cartels. A population of about 2'000, babies and the elderly alike. A murder happened just about every night, but it was safe if you played your cards right.

Bronwyn hid behind a large mass of rubble and caught her breath. "Shit, your aunt was crazy!" Graverobber panted, hand on his stomach. "My entire family is! Uncle Pavi wanted my face and Aunt Amber wanted my tits!" Graverobber chuckled and sat down, looking back at the city. The lights and floating billboards acted like beacons to the narcissistic and depraved. 

"Hey, kid. How old are you?" Bronwyn sat down, pulling her knees to her chin. "17, 18 in April." 

"I'll be 29 in December." Now that they were alone and relatively out of the jungle, she could see him better. Long curly dark hair framed a pale angular face. Roman nose and cleft chin. Tall and thin, he stood at about 6'2 whereas she was about 5'2. Perhaps dark eyes, as well. They were silent for a while, catching their breath. Cars passed by them, oblivious to the two hiders. Bronwyn grabbed her water bottle and took a swig offering it to Graverobber. He took it with a smile and sipped. He gave it back and they were on their way.

____________________________________________  
They reached Gallviston by 6 am, like Graverobber said. They took residence in an old two story house. No one lived in it for over 12 years so it was really up for grabs. Graverobber collapsed on a dusty bedsheet, making tthe wood beneath said sheet creak and crack. Bronwyn took in her surroundings; old walks with peeling bird wallpaper, wood floors that croaked like a frog, cracked windows and a matted rug. That was all the upper rooms consisted of. 

Downstairs was the kitchen, bathroom and living room. The kitchen was grimey and reeked of dust and rotting food. Mold lay in the bottom of a still half full sink and the fridge was radioactive. In the living room a moth eaten couch sat by a glass coffee table. A Loveseat and a recliner sat parallel to the shit sides of the coffee table. A fire place and a broken tv lay parallel to the couch. Old family photos lined the shelves. An old dog bed sat by the door. 

The bathroom was boarded up. 

There was about three bedrooms upstairs so Graverobber picked the first one he tumbled into. Bronwyn found the biggest bedroom she could and claimed it as hers. She assumed it was the parents bedroom. A four-poster bed, two dressers, a bathroom that connected, and a window. A matted rug lay at the foot of the bed, which laid against the wall. She sat down on the blanket, and groaned when she felt the dust cake her palms. They'd have to clean this entire house if they wanted to live here. Well not them, but her. She assumed Graverobber would leave when he woke up. Until then, she'd clean off the bed and check for bugs like lice and bedbugs. 

She tugged the heavy blanket off and it hit the floor with a 'twuck'. Dust rolled off into the floor and she began to whip it back and forth. Clouds of dust and dirt waffed up, astonishing her. The dust covered up the originally white and blue blankets. A pattern of lillie's was found and she smiled at that. The walls in this bedroom had peeling pea green paint. Ew. 

She hung the blanket over the stair railing and began to pull off the yellowed sheet. The pillows were moth eaten, but didn't look that bad. She lifted up the mattress and found no bugs, but a small animal skeleton. She shrieked and dropped the matress. She backed against the dresser, hand over her mouth. Graverobber stomped in, hair wild. "What, what?!" 

Bronwyn pointed to the bed and she hurried over, ducking low. "Oh shit. Haha! You just found a skeleton. Its harmless." He scooped the bones out and showed them off. "I'll go throw this outside. Get some sleep." 

"Are you going to leave tomorrow, like are you not staying here?" 

"Hm? Oh no, when I said we're partners, I meant it. You live with me now baby!" His voice held no malice and he spoke in a tone befiting friends. He was very disarming but at the same time sketchy. "How come?" 

"Because if I left you here, you'd get killed. You need me." He shrugged and flung the bones outside the window. "Listen, you can trust me. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm on your side here." He wiped his hands on his coat an looked at her. "Let's just work together and be friends. You need the buddy system out here." Bronwyn scanned his face, looking for any signs of mischief. "Fine. Let's be buddies."


	3. Chapter 3

In the days they squatted in the rotting house, they had a talk about what their life was going to be like from here on out. Graverobber insisted on changing names for the public and Bronwyn insisted on getting jobs. Graverobber wasn't suited for a life of a stand up citizen and she wasn't ready to relinquish the one thing she got from her mother. 

"Here kid, how about this. We run with a gang, and get nicknanes? It'd be easy and we could lay low incase anyone comes looking." Bronwyn huffed and heaved herself up onto the counter, resting herself right beside the somewhat cleaner fridge. They haven't opened it, but scrubbed it clean just like the rest of the house. Graverobber was leaning against the counter beside Bronwyn, arms crossed. "I can go with it, but I choose the nickname." 

"Okay, okay. Call me Nick. That's what I'll be going by from now on."  
"Nick?"  
"Don't worry about it. How about you, kid? What's your pseudonym?" 

"Ah...dad called me Witch, so." Nick looked at her, a smile playing at his thin lips. He had cleaned his face of any make up but his face was just as pale as his ivory foundation. "Witch it is." 

"What do you think we'll have to do in a gang?" She crossed her ankles, swinging her legs back and forth. "Well, I'd assume we'd be hazed first and then given positions later. You'd most likely be a prostitute, though." 

She gagged and he laughed. "I'm only 17!" She jeered, elbowing him in the shoulder. He winced and rubbed his arm. "Which is why they'll stick you on a corner. Sick men do what they want here, to anyone they can find. Underaged people aren't the exception." 

"Don't they have laws or rules here? A gang of cops to keep the order?" He shook his head and grabbed a knife from a drawer between them. "Its everyone for themselves here. Hence why you need a buddy. But if someone sees someone doing something they don't like, they play the executioner. So that's a plus." 

"Its very apocalyptic out here. You won't let them, ya know?"  
"Kill you? No, but you'll have to learn how to talk yourself out of situations so you don't kill yourself." Bronwyn stared at her fishnets, at the flesh between the medium sized diamonds. "Can't you continue your zyrdate dealing?" 

"I could, but then we'd get noticed. Its best to blend in and act out later when you've got a footing." He handed the knife to her and she took it. "Keep this on you. You could never have to many sharp things."

___________________________________________________

With a yelp, Bronwyn was jolted forward as the man behind her jerked her around his beaten down car. His clammy hands coated her bare hips in sweat. He reeked of sweat and body oder. Nick stood outside the car, waiting to jump in if things got to heated. He was talking to a redheaded woman who wore a tight silver strapless dress that had a tear under her right armpit. The man's lips attached themselves to her shoulder, sucking like some bottom feeding fish. He ground up into her butt, mumbling about how he would take a while to get it up. 

Bronwyn pressed down on him, gritting her teeth as she felt that small little bump brush against her tailbone. The woman looked inside the car and laughed, saying something to Nick, who shook his head. The man eventually settled for jumping her thighs and he came messily at the apex of her crotch. He ushered Bronwyn out and threw a rag at her. He handed Nick a 20 and started his car. She cleaned herself off and thew the rag back into his passenger seat. 

He took off and Bronwyn fixed her shorts. A stain was forming against the black fabric. "He was so gross." The woman laughed again and pulled out an old plastic perfume bottle from her purse. It was long and pink, but it was half full. "Here Witch, you need this more than me." The man's stink rubbed on her and everyone could tell. It hung in the air and made Bronwyn retch. She spritzed herself until the scent of chemicals covered the B.O. 

Nick put the twenty in his pocket, along with the other money she's made. They've been here about 2 months. Nick got a job as a zydrate dealer and she was a prostitute with limits. She refused to be under the thumb of a pimp, so she became a standalone prostitute. Men mocked her for not fully putting out and women called her a prude for having standards. But she was happier this way. Nick wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "Hey kid," he breathed in her ear, "mind if I occupy the house for an hour or so? I wanna take her home." He motioned to the redhead who had taken back her perfume with a kind smile. She was pretty I'm her own way, Bronwyn noted. Tall, thin and pale like him. Her face was square shaped and she had a cleft shin like him. Honey coloured eyes and thick red eyelashes. A birthmark the size of an egg rested on her jaw, trailing down her neck.

"Yeah totally," Bronwyn nodded, making Nick bounce in glee. "Shannon, let me take you home!" He thanked her and took off, winking at the redhead. She giggled and waved goodbye to Bronwyn, who waved back. Shannon had been around a couple of times, but she never stayed. Nick said she was just there to be there, offering sex for Zydrate. She was nice about it and struck up conversation once or twice.

Bronwyn worked the curb, waiting until another car pulled up. She bent over the driver side door and peered in. "Hey, cutie. How much are you worth?"

"For a night? 100. Thigh jobs are 20, blow jobs are 50, handies are 10 and other stuff can be negotiated." The man laughed deep and low, making her gulp. He sounded hot. "I'll take a blow job and a good conversation. How much is that all together?"

"50 dollars and a penny for your thoughs." She joked. He turned on the overhead light and unlocked the door. "Climb in, cutie." He was aging, about 40, with grey eyes and thining salt and pepper hair. A scraggly beard dropped from his chin but It was suprisingly well taken care of. He didn't stink and he didn't look like he lived here, so she assumed he was from the city. She climbed into his lap and closed the door, wrapping her arms around his neck. Noses bumped and she pulled away, wanting space in the otherwise cramped car. "Slide over to the passenger and I'll pull out the money." She did as was told and sat on her legs beside him.

He reached for his wallet and pulled out two 20's and a ten. Also a penny. She took it and lipped it into her tube top. Her hair had been cut short into a bob under her ears, making them curl inward, but she pulled it back as best she could. He pulled his dick out, and slipped on a condom. "Got a disease?" He asked, arching a thick eyebrow. "No, sir." He purred and began to stroke. "Good. I'll leave this on though, just to cautious. No offence."

She waved in dismissal. Once he was hard, she leaned down and took him in her mouth. It was big enough to streach her mouth but not so big as to cause her pain. She mechanically bounced her head on his lap, cradling his balls. He moaned and laid a heavy hand on her head, grabbing at the tiny ponytail. He slowly but surely began to push her head down and guide her back up. She wasn't use to this, but she didn't want to anger him. He grew quicker and rougher, thrusting so deep she'd gag and claw at his thigh. He didn't let up, just shoved her face down deeper. She couldn't breath, but he didn't seem to care. every attempt to break away to breath was thrawrtes by him pinning her head down.

He kept thrusting and thrusting until she could feel spittle slip from her lips onto her chin. She frantically reached for her straight razor and flipped it open, slashing his thigh. He howled and shoved her off. She gasped wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You bitch!" "I couldn't breath, jackass!" He glared at her, hand pressing down on the gash. "I should beat your ass for this, bitch."

"Try and I'll slice you like cheese." She felt for the tiny lock on the door and huffed. The man grabbed her by the throat and she slashed his wrist. Blood spurted out into her chest and he retracted his hand, giving her time to unlock the door and fall into the pavement. She skinned her palms and knees, scrambling down the sidewalk. The man shouted after her, but she didn't care. Fuck. That.

She made it back to their shared home about a half hour later, limping. Shannon was leaving in a hurry but she cast a quick glance at Bronwyn. She didn't say anything though. Bronwyn stumbled inside, nursing her twisted ankle. Nick was in the kitchen, drinking a lukewarm beer he had opened two hours ago. "Hey, kid! You're finally ho-me... What the shit!" He hurried over, helping her to a chair at the kitchen table. She sat down and heaved her ankle onto the table. The blood had dried on her tits and collarbone, tine specks scattering her cheeks. Sweet rolled down her neck and temple, running a trail through dust and dirt. A bead rolled down her breasts, catching on the cloth. Nick hesitated to pull away but he turned and grabbed his beer, pressing it to her ankle. "Did you cut a john?"

"He tried to suffocate me. So yeah, I slit his wrist." She grunted, thanking him for the beer. "And you got...blood all over you. Did he try anything else?" Bronwyn shrugged as he grabbed a rag and wet it with the tap. They got it working last week. "Choked me, that's when I uh, cut him."

"He deserved it, bet he won't come around here again." He handed her the rag, and she began to scrub away the blood and grime. "Its a shame though. He was hot. I wish hot men weren't dicks."

"Thank God I'm one of the hot men who aren't." Nick teased, pushing her head around. She smiled and flung the slick rag against his chest. "Ah! Hey!"

The two shared a laugh and Bronwyn stood. "I'm going to go take a shower. See ya."

Nick took the beer and downed it. "Night kid."


	4. Chapter 4

She settled herself into the stained bathtub, scrubbing at her dirty body with a rag. The coarse material scratched her skin but it carved away the dried dirt and blood that caked on her limbs. The clear water turned milky brown in seconds, but she felt cleaner than she had felt in days. 

She lathered up body wash on the rinsed out rag and scrubbed herself till her body was red. Her skin screamed at the hot water but she bit the bullet and got washed. When she got out, she brushed through her shampooed hair and let it air dry. The bathroom was cool, cooler than the steam that kept her warm. She wrapped a towel around her body and darted to her room. Nick was in his room, door open listening to Metallica's Master Of Puppets on a scratchy cd, in some torn up boom box. It cut out once or twice but it was still good.

He glanced up, eyes locked on the teen who snuck past. Her door shut and he sighed. The cd cut out for a while, letting him sit in silence. It resumed, pounding at his head so his thoughts couldn't crowd him. Bronwyn changed into a large tee-shirt and socks, throwing her soiled clothing in a hamper. Nick's muffled music rocked her walls, making the tiny trinkets on her dresser rattle. Tonight's ordeal could not have gone any worse and the fact she slit a man's wrist was evidence of that. She could taste his blood. She could still feel his hands on her throat.

Worse thing is, she liked it. When the shock wore off, she found she liked it. The blood was warm and slicked over her like a shower. She ran a hand over her chest and sighed. She liked the feeling of the knife in her hand. The way it glint in the light. Whatever. It was whatever. She turned off the lights and crawled into bed. Nick's music turned down and he closed his door.

She lay awake thinking of how her day was going to go tomorrow. Should she even go in? Would there be any violence tomorrow? Ugh. She hoped not. Maybe she could could just stay home and take a day off. If prostitutes had days off. Probably not but she was her own whore so she made the rules.

Bronwyn fell into a dreamless sleep and woke up when Nick threw a tiny rock at her face. The pebble bounced off her right cheek and off the bed. She groaned and sat up, angery at having been woke up in such a way. "Get up, I made some breakfast." 

"Mmm Zydrate and toast, my favorite." 

"Oh ha ha, kid. I made some eggs and ham." 

"Fine fine, just give me a sec." Bronwyn yawned, casting off her blanket. It was still dark outside, cool air seeping in the though the cracks in the window. Bronwyn slipped on some socks and padded downstairs, where a few lights were on. The rest of the house was dark and cold except the kitchen table, where the overhead lamps was on. Two plates sat parallel to each other, with two glasses of water. Nick was at the sink, slipping the pans into the suds. He turned and sat down, taking up his fork.

"Thanks," Bronwyn sat, sipping the water. The cool clashed against her dry mouth. "No problem. You got to wash them though." Bronwyn found no problem with it. She ate breakfast, joking once or twice with Nick. "I'm living with a real life slasher, huh?" He cracked a grin, running his tounge over his bottom molars. His eyes kept glancing between her and her hands. "Shut up Nick or I'll cut you too." "Is that a threat or a promise, Bronwyn?" He never used her nickname in the house. He said it felt out of place. "A promise." She chuckled, washing off her plate. "I don't want you going out today." She glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowing. "What? Why?" "Because you got hurt yesterday. I think it'd be good for you to take a while and I don't know, heal?" She put her plate and utensils in the rack and dried her hands with a moth eaten handtowel. "That's very sweet, Nick, but I think I'll be okay today. Besides, you'll be there to knock a few heads around before your graveyard shift. Still can't believe you went back to Zydrate dealing. You said we'd get noticed." He shrugged and put his plate in the sink. "Yeah, but Zydrate seeling seems to be what I'm best at." She squeezed his shoulder and headed back upstairs to change.

Nick had gone from job to job but they never lasted, so he just gave up and went back to Zydrate dealing. It the the people high and brought in money like crazy. Alot of addicts in the wasteland, doing whatever it took to get high. They payed higher and died quicker. Bronwyn yawned, watching the sun peak out of the rolling hills. The sky was gray, and casted a soft gray-blue tint around the room. She pulled out her trusted fishnets and slipped them on over her underwear. Peice by peice she slipped on her outfit. A short leather skirt and a tight white tee shirt with a black spaghetti strap over it. No bra. She shoved her feet into a pair of low heeled boots and ran a hand through her hair. It was messy and frizzy from twisting and turning all night. 

She brushed it and pined her hair back. She applied makeup frugally, but tinted her eyelids a soft orange. Her lips were lined with a soft pink before being filled with a red lipstick. They blended well. She released the pins and applied heavy mascara and eyeliner. She shunned earings and grabbed her coat. She felt attractive, mature. It got men's attention, that was for sure. Her knees still stung from yesterday, so she would have to take it easy. 

Her palms were bandaged up just like her knees, jutting out against the fishnets. As she walked out of her room, Nick was walking up the stairs. "Tonight I'm gonna knock down the boards on the bathroom door downstairs. It stinks in there." 

"Do you think something dead is in there?" Nick nodded, hand on his doorknob. "Either that or it's completely useless. I just really wanna see what's in there." Bronwyn smiled and walked downstairs, washing the last of the dishes and putting them away. She headed outside, feeling the air on her skin.

A few people were out and about, struggling through their early morning. Mothers walked their children and fathers went to work. Women and men worked their corners and most Graverobbers shunned the morning. Nick hurried out, his signature trench coat hastily pulled over his arms. "Kid, don't go far. I don't wanna let you out of my sight. What street are you thinking of running?" 

"Michaels and Greene. From 8 am to 7 pm. You don't have to stay, and you definitely don't have to watch me. It makes things awkward." Nick made a face and pulled his long hair out of his coat. "How so?" Bronwyn shuffled and faced him. "I don't know, I just think it feels awkward having you stay there while I'm off with a john. Makes it feel like your my pimp." 

"Oh, well. If it makes you feel better I won't be watching you and a john. Just standing off to the side. Besides, we don't want a repeat of yesterday." Nick had a point, but Bronwyn was prideful. She wouldn't have him chaperoning her. "Listen, Nick I promise, I'll be okay. I'll definitely be more careful. I got the knife you gave me." To prove her point, she motioned to her left boot, where something shiny, presumably the knife, glinted in the early morning sun. 

Nick frowned but let her be, moving on to the street before her. Bronwyn didn't understand why he was always so adamant about being near her.


End file.
